A Kmart sat on Gallatin Road in Madison, Tennessee, in the late seventies. Its parking lot entrance was on our route between the church I pastored and our home. We had just moved from a rural part of Mississippi, so the store was massive and mesmerizing. That Kmart had on display the first computer I ever saw.
It may have been a Commodore 65. Sitting before the flickering yellow monochrome screen set a keyboard like the ones I used in high school typing class. The alluring machine compelled me to put my fingers on the “home keys,” I was thankful for the typing class I took during my high school senior year. That was probably the most helpful training I received in all my education.
I stood there wondering just what to type. Finally, I began to type, “The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains.” Those were my first words to enter into a computer.
After I entered them, I hit the return key. The little flashing mark dropped down and impatiently waited for me to make another entry. I had none. After a few awkward moments, I turned and walked away with the words still on the screen because I had no idea how to get rid of them.
As I rejoined my family, I wondered what good the machine was. Two years later, I had a computer with a yellow monochrome screen and two eight-inch floppy disk slots. I was one with the machine as I pounded away on my dissertation.
My skills in computer usage have probably doubled every ten years. The problem is that what a computer can do seems to have doubled every ten months. My computer skills have improved, but the gap between what I know and what is to be known expanded precipitously.
I use a computer for writing, research, and photography. I need to add one more, shopping. Holding a respectable fifth place would be classified as social media. I have a blog where I post some of my writings.
Last week I put my digital toes in the world of “spreadsheets.” I have to find a way to keep tabs on my woodworking achievements. It’s going to be a challenge. All I know about spreadsheets has been learned as I change the linen on our bed once a week. Lucky for me, I know a guy!
When the friend who set me up with my first computer orientated me to the computing world, he gave me the best advice, “I know you do not know how to use it. Just start using the computer, and you will learn. Learn by doing.”
The second bit of wisdom I acquired was, “Who do I know that could and would help me?”
In spiritual growth, maturing happens in much the same way. The more I learn about Truth, the more there is to know. Every Truth seems to bring with it two or more questions. At first, this wasn’t encouraging; I didn’t feel I was getting anywhere. Being overwhelmed with my ignorance was a constant companion of all I learned.
It took a while to understand that learning what the Bible says is not enough to change my life. Eventually, I discerned that getting to know God is in applying what He has revealed and is revealing. We learn about God as we live with God.
Finally, my spiritual maturing has been dramatically expanded by carefully choosing the people I closely associate with. God has constantly put individuals in my life who are further along in their pilgrimage with Him than I am. Right now, there are about a dozen close friends with whom I test what I think God is teaching me. If not for the honesty of these brothers and sisters, my theology would be woefully inadequate to sustain me in the easy times, let alone in the wandering worry times.
There is a sense in which following Jesus is like chasing a shooting star, compelling yet impossible.
Do not become so bewildered at the impossibility of following Jesus that you settle for just getting to heaven someday. Keep throwing yourself into the following. He already knows you are not much of a follower and continues leading you despite the ineptness of your best efforts. That you finished reading this pondering is a good sign that you are well on your way in your pursuit of him.
Here are two verses that keep me moving.
“Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” At once, they left their nets and followed him. (Mark 1:17-18, CSB)
Photo – A Tybee Island, GA, black bird resting in a washed-up beach reed pile.
Baldwin Heirlooms 